


Harem of the Scorpion

by BoyMother



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal, Bugs & Insects, Chains, Collars, Harem, Harems, Knifeplay, M/M, Master/Slave, Mind Manipulation, POV First Person, Poison, Rape/Non-con Elements, Resistance, Scorpion King, Sexual Slavery, Size Difference, slave boys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27628516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoyMother/pseuds/BoyMother
Summary: Bandit King of the Desert adds a new pet to his collection.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 40





	1. Silk and Leather

I have been with Master for a very long time. I was one of his first pets, a distinction that gives me special pride. The harem is quite large now, with 13 other boys, but I was one of the first. I always remember that. It helps me feel closer to Master, as if I am special to him. Being in his harem for this long means I am accustomed to the desert and the chains and the life of a pet. I never complain to Master, that is why I don’t have many piercings, only a few from my early days when I was foolish and disrespectful. Today though, it is hard even for me. We have been walking for a long time. The sand burns at my bare feet and my legs tire but Master does not slow down. His strides are so big that we are fortunate he walks at a leisurely pace or we might all be dragged behind him. Or perhaps he slows himself purposefully so that we can keep up, how kind of him. I believe Master really does love us, even if he shows it in strange ways. I am so lost in my thoughts about Master that I fail to notice I am falling behind. Master’s arm swings forward and the chain that connects my collar to his fist pulls taunt. I am yanked forward, tumbling into the hot sand. Some of the others giggle at me, a few others move to help me up but Master does not take notice, he simply moves ahead dragging me along for a few yards before I can manage to get back on my feet. I feel a little foolish now, I almost never stumble. I am glad Master didn’t notice it, though then again, attention from Master is never bad, even when he is teasing and punishing. That is a lesson some of the other boys have not learned yet, but I know it well.  


I had suspected we were walking so long because we were going to the market. As tent covers peak above the dunes on the horizon, I am proven correct. Everyone is able to quicken their pace now, even after hours of weary travel, because we all love the market. It is such an exciting place we so rarely visit. Soon enough we are upon it and I cannot help but marvel at the all the brilliant colors of the tents and the people and their wares. The market is always bustling with people, most of them like me and the other boys, some of them less so, with their scales or pointed ears or fur, but none of them are like Master. Master towers above everyone else, he is a giant in the market and he commands as much attention as one would expect. Everyone looks at us, some stare, some glance discreetly, others glare or have oddly sad expressions. Everyone clears a path for Master, which only proves how great and honorable he is. I have often wondered what kind Master is from. I know that most of the people at the market are my own kind. We have the same naked skin and colorful eyes, the same absence of claws, teeth and stingers. But Master is strange. Besides his size, he is covered in hard black plates like armor, but they are natural to him, shiny and dimpled and very strong. I have seen arrows bounce off of him like toys. He has limbs like us, though his hands are both hands are covered by an especially thick shell shaped into a kind of pincer, with long tapered end points. I have felt those pincers squeeze around my throat and convey the awesome power of Master. But that is not all of Master’s unique traits. He also possesses a tail. Some of the other kinds here have tails too, but none are like Master’s. Master’s is long and thick, made of up hard-shelled segments, and ending in a deadly stinger. The point of the stinger alone matches the length of most swords, but its poison is the real threat. It is a both terrifying and wonderful poison, though I have only been stung once. He is of a very unique kind. I see no one like Master at the market just as I never do. Perhaps Master does not have a kind. Perhaps he is the last of his kind… or perhaps he is something more like a God. An excited shiver runs down my spine at the thought.  


The market is such fun! Master speaks to some men selling gold things. He adores gold. Back home he has lots of golden things. I don’t understand why he needs so many, but I don’t question Master anymore. While he talks his stinger swings around carelessly, threatening to impale someone. The gold sellers are happy to provide Master with some gifts. While he is haggling with the men, we get to explore. Our chains are short, only allowing us to travel a few yards away from Master, but the tents and stalls are crowded together enough that we can go to see the adjacent ones. Some of the other boys hover around Master, perhaps hoping he will buy jewelry for them. I go to an adjacent fruit stand. After such a long trek in the desert I am so very hungry. The big juicy mangos are especially tempting, and I know just how to get one. I simply stand at the stand and stare longingly at the fruit I want. I make big eyes and pout, holding my hands to my chest and shivering just a little. It’s a trick the other boys taught me when I first came to Master. Sure enough, the nice lady behind the stands grabs a mango and holds it out to me. She glances at Master when she does, but he is not watching. I always get something when I go to the market. Sometimes I even get multiple gifts. All of us boys do. I take the fruit from her and she smiles. Our eyes meet and there is something strange in her expression. There is something pitying in the way her eyebrows bend. I don’t understand it. But I do think I can use it to get another mango, it will be a long time before I can come to the market again and I want to fill my stomach. Sadly though, I don’t get the chance. I feel the jangle of my chain and the sharp yank of my collar pull me along. Master has taken his gifts from the men and is moving on. I try to keep up behind him, avoiding the swing of his tail, as I take huge bites of my mango. The sweet juice runs down my chin as pulp slides into my empty belly. The market truly is the best.  
Another thing the market has are surprises! Always something exciting is happening here. Sometimes Master gets to really show off his deadly weapons, and sometimes there are men riding horses, and other times there are performers! I love the performers.

They sing and dance and stand on their hands. They feel familiar to me, as if I was once a performer too! I look for them around the market, but I only see the selling stalls. Yet, there is still a surprise for us today. Some more men have stopped Master, but these men are strange. They were dark robes and hoods, so that I can hardly see their faces. They have gold markings on their robes, shiny letters I don’t recognize. They don’t bow to master, which is very odd. Everyone bows to Master. But these men do not. They just talk to him and Master seems interested. I am so fascinated by the mysterious men and their pretty gold letters that I don’t notice what’s behind them until it suddenly kicks to its feet and bolts out from behind them. It is a boy, arms tied up behind his back, running as fast as he can, kicking up sand behind him as he barrels towards a gap in the stands. He is on a rope leash though, and one of the men yanks it back hard. The boy is violently thrown in the air and lands hard on his back. He gets dragged back to the men who pull him to his feet. The boy is a lot like me, he is thin and small, smooth skinned and wide-hipped. All of the boys in Master’s harem are like this. Though this boy is also not like us in some ways. He is dirty and wears a mean expression, like an angry tomcat. His clothing is unlike ours. He is wearing leathers and rough cloth that covers his skin, unlike my breezy silks.  


“I’m sorry!” He shouts, but he does not sound sorry, he sounds angry, “I shouldn’t have stolen it, alright! Shit, I’ll pay you back! I’ll pay you double! I’ll pay you triple whatever this freak is going to-”  


Master’s tail swings under his chin and pushes his head up, shutting his jaw. He glares at Master, but does not speak. Master drags the sharp blade of his tail along the boy’s cheeks, making him turn this way and that way. Then Master does something so exciting it makes me and the other boys gasp. His tail whips down from the boy’s chin so fast I can’t see it move. All I can see is the clean cut he made through the boy's clothing. Now the boy’s chest is showing, it is soft and scrawny, he looks even smaller without his shirt.  


“You wouldn't actually sell me to this monster would you? You can’t do this to me! Hey! Hey! Everyone! You’re not going to let them do this to me, huh?!” The boy is shouting now, but the other people at the Market pretend not to hear. They don’t want to get involved in Master’s business.  


The boy keeps shouting and I don’t like how loud he is. He’s making me upset. But then Master hands the men some gold (Master almost never gives away his gold!) and the boy's yelling contunues to be ignored as the men hand Master his leash. Master gives it a tug and the boy lurches forward, nearly falling on his face. Poor thing stuggles to his feet and spits out a string of curses. He is staring at Master with a strange expression. Then he looks at me. His face is so strange...so angry and sad… It makes me look away. Part of me is excited about a new friend, but I also feel...upset? My stomach is in knots all of a sudden and I don’t know why. Something is wrong, I feel it, but I cannot process the thought enough to come to a conclusion. There is a wall in my mind that I keep running into. It’s hiding something from me.  


Master is moving on now and I am glad for it. I was getting all tangled up in thoughts, which usually upsets me. It's best to keep myself distracted. So I grab my chain and I hurry along. There are still lots of people and things to see at the market, but I’m no longer interested in them. Me and the other boys all want to meet this new thief who has joined us. We all walk around him to watch as he struggles against his leash. He falls several times trying to resist Master, each time he gets back up and pulls back, only to get yanked forward by master’s effortless strength. He snarls like a cornered animal. The curse words he spits are foul. I do not even recognize them, but I know they are curses from the way he hurls them. There is a desperation in his eyes, a building panic as the stalls of the market grow fewer and fewer, until it is just us and the desert and the traveling market fading into the horizon behind us. The thief boy continues his struggle even after the market has passed out of sight. The other boys and I try to get close and call him, but he snarls and yells at us, so we keep our distance but watch him closely, curious about the newcomer. He fights for so long, getting yanked and dragged over and over, until his bare chest is rubbed red by the sand. By the time he stops struggling, he is exhausted. He is panting heavily, his dark hair stuck to his head with sweat. There is a miserable angry expression on his face, but at least now he has stopped resisting. I feel bad for him. Why would he fight master? He’ll only get punished. In fact, Master has been surprisingly kind to him so far. I have seen master do much worse to his disobedient pets. As I think that thought, I press the golden piercing in my tongue against my lips. It's a reminder that was once disobedient too.

It is nearly evening by the time we arrive home. Home for us is impossible to miss. In the vast desert, a pillar of black stone erupts from the sand, reaching high into the sky like towers in the capital. Funny that I do not think I have ever been to the capital, but I know it exists and can picture it in my head? Perhaps it is made up, but I think of this city every time I see Master’s home. The stone is covered in markings I cannot read, and they have been largely worn away by the desert winds. Once inside, the markings are much clearer, and some are even painted with gold. The inside of our home is like a cave with glossy black floors and walls. Stalactites hangs from the ceiling over our heads. It is quiet and much cooler than the desert. We are all happy to be home to rest with Master for a while in the cozy glow of the torches. But Master does not want to rest. As soon as we are home, Master takes the iron band our leashes are attached to off from his arm and locks it to a thick iron ring in the wall. Master rarely leaves us alone like this, only when he is meeting with important people or going into battle. Once we see him get out his golden paint, we know it is the latter. Master is a strong warrior. The walls are full of hung shields and swords of the capital’s warriors, those who would try to kill Master. Master is always victorious in battle, but even so, I cannot help but worry as I watch him paint complex designs of gold onto his armor plates. He is never defeated, but he has scars nonetheless. Nothing is more frightening than the thought of Master going into battle and not returning to us. We would be all alone without him. Many of the other boys try to keep master at home. They press themselves up against him and coo and purr, begging him to stay and play with us. I consider joining them, but I know there is no stopping Master when he is going to fight. He only pushes them away, not even granting them a glance. When Master is going to battle, he is too focused to pay attention to us. It occurs to me that this is probably why he hasn’t punished the new thief boy yet.  


Despite continued attempts to tempt him, Master finishes embellishing himself in golden script and leaves for battle, leaving us alone. Being away from Master is terrible. I feel anxious, my stomach aches. Sometimes when Master is gone, me and the other boys huddle together to comfort each other as we wait for him to return. This time though, we have something to distract us. The new thief boy has been fiddling with his chain ever since Master left. The iron ring that holds it is thicker than his leg, he could not possibly hope to break it, and yet he tries. We all watch him as he does, thrashing the chain this way and that, having fits of frustration as he fails to free himself. Our chains are all several yards long and we can move freely around this room of the lair. I don’t quite understand why he isn’t satisfied with that. Still, I feel sorry for him. When he finally ceases he collapses against the wall, sitting like a limp corpse, staring at his feet. It takes a minute or two, but some of us approach him curiously, and this time he does not scare us away. He just sits defeated. Some of the braver boys among us reach out and touch his shoulders and back. They seek to comfort him, as do I, but we don’t really know how. A few try to speak with him, but he does not respond and they don’t have much to ask.  


Hours go by and he barely moves at all. The others have all lost interest and are playing games with each other like they often do. I am tempted to join them, but I cannot ignore the thief boy. New boys in Master’s harem often act like this. They get scared or angry, they might yell or cry, and I hate it when they do that. I want this new boy to be happy. I don’t really know what to say, but I find myself approaching him. I touch his shoulder and he does not respond. His skin is slick with sweat and I can see his hands are chafed and red from pulling at his chain. He glances at me, then looks back down at the floor. I take it as an invitation.  


“You should try to cheer up. Master usually wants to play with us after he fights… He’ll... He’ll get made at you… if you are still angry when he returns.”  


This gets his attention. All of a sudden the thief boy is glaring at me. He leaps to his feet.  


“Why shouldn’t I be angry?!” He yells. The other boys have stopped their games and are watching us now, “I’m not his slave! That bastard can kill before he makes me like _you. _” He spits that last word out with venom. I am a little hurt by it, but once again I don’t know why.  
__

“He will punish you!” I cry, grabbing his arm.  


He yanks its away from me, “Don’t touch me! I shouldn’t be here. I’m not like you. I… I’m going to escape! You can either help me or you can leave me alone!”  


I don’t like being shouted at. Especially by this boy. He isn't Master! He can’t tell me what to do!  


“Why would you want to escape?! Master will be mad at you for escaping! Don’t you want Master to like you?!”  


“What the hell is wrong with you!?” He screams back at me, and for a moment it seems like he might attack me. But he doesn’t. His stares at me and his expression morphs. First it is angry, but that fades to the background and just looks perplexed, but that fades too and is replaced finally by an uncomfortable pitying expression like the fruit seller at the market. I hate it.  


I don’t want to deal with this thief boy anymore. He is rude and mean. He can go back to banging his chain around, I don’t care if Master punishes him.

However, it seems that this thief boy has fortune on his side. Master does not return until late at night. The lair is dark and cold by the time when we hear the heavy “clack” of his feet on stone. Of course, we all rush from our sleep to greet him, but he does not stop for a moment to even look down at us. He pushes past, trudging through his crowded harem towards his private chamber. His tail hangs low, his breathing is heavy. I can’t quite tell in the dark, but I spot what might be new scars in his armor. Master is always victorious in battle. Sometimes he returns filled with the vitality of a grand victory, eager to celebrate with his pets. But sometimes it is like this. He is weary and hurt. There is no doubt in my mind that he will heal, but I cannot shake my concern. The disappointment that he will not play with us stings as well. But just when I think he will disappear into his chamber and leave us alone for the night, he turns back to us and my heart soars. He is not looking at me though. I follow the gaze of his beady golden eyes and see they fall upon his newest pet, the thief boy. The boy, still sitting in the same spot against the wall, looks up to meet his stare. Their faces, illuminated by the flickering torchlight, hold powerful tension. One, hard and inhuman, tests the will of the other, soft but fierce.  


“Tomorrow.” Master says, his voice vibrating through the stone. Immediately the other pets begin to murmur. We all know what this means. Master will break his new pet tomorrow. I was broken myself once, long ago. I know that much. But when I try to recall the event, I encounter another mental wall. Impenetrable. I do not spend long trying to access lost memories though, because Master has taken our chains from off the wall and is guiding all of us into his chamber. It is time to sleep.

Master’s chamber is covered in gold. Gold script decorates the walls, golden treasures litter the floor, and in the center of the room is a pool of fine golden sand. This bed of glittering silt is where Master sleeps. Tonight, he is quick to lay down. In the better light of his chamber I can see the depth of his wounds. Whomever Master was fighting, they must have been a terrible opponent. There is an enemy of Master’s that he will not talk about around us. We harem slaves know not the identity of this enemy, but we know that only this enemy can deliver such blows to our Master. He will live, but he may not leave the lair for some time.  
He has no time to play with us. As soon as he enters the chamber and practically throws his body into his golden bed, shaking the room’s walls with his weight. There is then a mad scramble as all of us pets rush to claim the favored positions. To sleep with Master is a great pleasure. And the closer to him you sleep, the better. To sleep on the upper chest, near his face, is considered best. But lower chest is not bad either. Abdomen is still highly prized, as are spots under his arms. Those who are slow or meak are often left huddled around the legs or tail. They are not favored, but all are parts of Master, so all are good. I am not fast enough to climb onto his chest in time tonight. But I am able to huddle in a spot between his left arm and his side. My body is squeezed by his hard plates on either side of me and it is blissful. I can hear the deep melody of his breathing. Such power is evident in even something as his breath. I cling to his side and close my eyes, ready to drift away in worshipful reverie.  
But I remember the thief boy. He is in the corner, as far away from our Master as possible. Now that it is night the desert has turned cold and that cold creeps into our home. Master’s body and the heated gold sand keep us warm, but the boy is shivering in his corner. He is bent over with his face in his hands, shivering and whimpering like a wet mutt. Once again, I am moved by pity for him as much as I am puzzled by his behavior. I cannot stand to hear his whimpering.  


“Come sleep with us,” I say to him, having left my precious spot with the Master to speak with him.  


He raises his face to me and I his eyes are puffy and red. His cheeks are sticky with tears. He attempts to scowl, but it only breaks into another wave of stifled sobs.  


“It is cold and you are tired. The bed is warm. Why won’t you come?” I ask.  


He begins to speaking, but his words are lost in his tears. Such a pathetic sight to see.  


“Please?” I ask him again, placing my hand on his face.  


He does not seem angry anymore. He is just defeated and sad. I think he is probably going to refuse my plea, but then finally, he looks at me and nods. I take the thief boy by the hand and lead him to the Master, our chains clinking along the ground as we walk. We curl up against Master’s side, tucked between his arm, warmed by the bed and our huddled bodies. Thief boy has stopped crying now. His body is pressed tightly to mine, his leathers against my silks. The poor thing is sent to sleep by his exhaustion in minutes, leaving me awake to think. The moments just preceding sleep are when my head is clearest. When it is the least clogged by the distractions of Master and the waking world. I use these few moments of relative clarity to think about this new boy and what he will face tomorrow. Master will break him without a doubt. It will be hard but better for him in the end… right? I am surprised at my own questioning. Of course it will be better! He will be with Master… and Master is good… right? Again a nagging sense of hesitancy fills me. Why? Master is good! I know he is! I tell myself this. I know it to be true. And yet, the more I sit in the darkness and the silence… the more I think to myself… about this thief boy and Master and myself and the fruit seller in the market… and… my past? A past before Master. Such a thing is incomprehensible. And yet, I feel as if I am beginning to chip away at the great wall in my head. But before I get any deeper, I fall asleep.


	2. Breaking Ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Bandit King loved the way horror blossomed in his eyes, the cold sweat and fearful trembling. This was the first penetration of his new life, not as a thief boy, but as a silk draped slave boy like the others. His first mark of ownership. His first piercing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the darkest thing I have written, so be warned! Non-con, Piercing, mild gore, and generally fucked up shit contained in this!

“Absolutely not.” The thief boy said with as much defiance as he could muster, which wasn’t as much as yesterday when he had been sold. He was exhausted, humiliated, hungry, thirsty, and beaten down, something both he and his captor were keenly aware of. He was all bark and no bite. His last line of defense was to hurl the nastiest words he could come up with at the tyrant.   
“You vile fucking bastard! Pervert! I’ll never-   
“Enough.” The Bandit King said as his tail swept across the room in the blink of an eye, hitting the thief in the chest like a battering ram. His body was flung across the stone floor like a thrown ragdoll.   
“Take them off or I will beat them off you, boy.” He growled, a dozen little black mouthparts twitching to produce speech. Everything about him induced terror. His size, his deadly tail and claws, his strange exotic race...whatever it was. Thief boy had heard tales of the Bandit King since he was a fruit snatching street urchin and was still unprepared for this. As a thief he was in some way kin with this monstrous man, the king of the thieves. That idea disgusted him. He was just a simple Azarothian alley dweller. He stole to survive and he lived like a relatively ordinary man. The Bandit King was a legend of the desert, a monster living in the harsh wilderness. He was a thief, a vicious warrior, a slaver, and a pervert too, as thief boy was now learning. He wanted no kinship with such a tyrant. He said a silent prayer to some Goddess he barely remembered from his childhood. If he got out of this alive he would renounce thieving forever and make an honest man of himself.   
“Beating it is then.” The Bandit King rose to his feet, his enormous size on full display. Thief boy’s entire body could be crushed under his chest alone.   
“N-no wait!” He stammered, flinching away, “I… Wait...just… W-we can work out a deal. Anything else, I can do. Anything!”   
It was hard to read emotion in the half carapace face, but thief boy detected what might have been an eye roll.   
“Always the same. You’re lucky you're pretty, boy. I’ve killed others for whining half as much as you.” To punctuate his point, the King stepped forward shifting his full immense mass towards the boy. His tail swung like a capital guard’s khopesh with blinding speed over the boy’s head, slicing just a few hairs in half. His strength was awe inspiring, but it distracted from a deadlier precision. Thief boy did not even register what had happened until the King’s deadly tail had returned to its resting position behind his back again.   
“Right.” He said, understanding fully the stakes here. Much as he wished he could choose death to preserve his pride, when it came down to it, he was a survivor. He’d always had been and he would do what was needed to save his own skin. A show of defiance was necessary to retain some dignity, but he could resist no longer.   
He undid the rope that served as his belt and let his pants fall. He removed his tattered undergarments and threw them aside. His shirt had already been shredded, so he now stood fully naked before the desert tyrant. Much as he despised the fawning slaveboys eagerly waiting outside for their turn, he was not unlike them physically. He had the same petite frame, the same androgynous face, the same gently sloping hips and long legs. He was pretty. Had he not made it as a thief, there would have been other options for him in the Azarothian gutter.  
The Bandit King’s impatience was abated by the sight. The unwrapping of a new toy was a rare pleasure made especially good when the toy tried to hide themselves with crossed arms and bent legs like this one was. He would sate his lusts making each and every part of him his own, turning this boy’s body into nothing but an object of his possession like his beloved gold and jewels. But even a barbarian such as himself knew that finer pleasures were best savoured, so he would take his time breaking the little thief.   
“Now open your mouth.” He commanded with a voice low as thunder.   
“What?”   
“Open your mouth, boy. Are you stupid? Can you understand that?”   
“No, I understand… but why?”  
“OPEN. NOW.” His voice boomed around the stone chamber, vibrating the tips of the thief’s toes.   
Of course, he did as commanded and meekly opened his lips. The King reached down and grabbed his jaw and painfully yanked it open wider, then let his claw snap back in place over his hand, letting the blades scissor around the boy’s throat.   
“Tongue out.”   
Thief boy did not make the same mistake twice and quickly obeyed, extending his tongue.   
“Now keep it out. You so much as flinch and I disconnect your head from your neck, boy.”   
Sweat began to roll down the thief’s temples. He felt as if this might be the end, standing naked and beaten with all his focus on keeping his tongue still. It became all the more difficult when the King’s tail began to slither through the air towards his face. The stinger, long as a sword and thin as a needle at its tip, held itself in front of his face. He got a good long look at the Bandit King’s notorious blade. He felt his lips twitch and for a moment and thought it might be the end of him, but the stinger only drew nearer until it had positioned itself just under his tongue. It was only then that he realized what he had his tongue out for. It took every ounce of self-control to not pull his tongue back inside. The Bandit King loved the way horror blossomed in his eyes, the cold sweat and fearful trembling. This was the first penetration of his new life, not as a thief boy, but as a silk draped slave boy like the others. His first mark of ownership. His first piercing.  
The needle sharp stinger began to push up and through the flesh of his tongue, slicing through it as easily as butter. Had he gone too far he might have torn the thing in half, but he’d done this many times before and rarely made mistakes anymore. Thief boy watched as the thin black point emerged from the top of his tongue and then slid back out. He could taste the blood as it rolled off his tongue, down his lips and onto his chin.   
“Keep it out.” The King said. His claws snapped back and allowed his hands to do the more delicate work. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes as the freshly pierced hole was roughly manipulated. When he was finally allowed to return his sore bleeding tongue back to his mouth, it was decorated with a heavy golden pearl studded with a glittering ruby. It felt awkward and irritating in his mouth. He wanted to spit it out, but of course his new owner was far from finished with him. His only choice was to try and ignore his throbbing tongue and prepare himself for whatever was coming next.   
For a fleeting moment, he thought he might be off the hook as the Bandit King returned to his enormous bed of gold sand. As the monster laid down he attempted to slip away and let one of the others become the focus of the scorpion monster’s sadistic desires.   
“Where do you think you're going?”   
Thief Boy’s body froze in place, “I uh… I thought I would send someone else in.”   
The Bandit King laughed a deep bellowing laugh. A cruel and sadistic laugh.   
“Thought you could get away that easily, huh? Get back here, I ain’t done with you yet, slut.”   
“I’m not a slut.” He whispered to himself. It was barely louder than a breath, but he underestimated the King’s hearing.   
“It’s exactly what you are now, slut. Unless you’d rather be a corpse.” His wicked tail began to stir.   
“No! I didn’t mean-”   
“Pathetic. If you wanna save your ass, get it up here,” he patted his abdomen, “Straddle me.”   
Thief boy did as he was told. He did not want to but he had no fighting spirit left and the bladed tail hovered just inches away from him, following him as he moved. It’s tip was still wet with his blood. He did his best to climb up onto the monster and received no assistance. When he had gotten into the humiliating position, his legs spread across the Bandit King’s broad waist, his naked bottom pressed against rough armor plates, he felt the razor tail tip trace its way down his spine. It dragged itself down from his neck to the base of his butt, drawing a thin line of blood all the way down. The boy grimaced at the stinging pain but he dared not pull away. This seemed to please his owner.   
“Good. Now ride it.”   
“W-What?”   
“Don’t play dumb, boy. You’ve pleasured a man before, haven’t you?”   
“No! I haven’t ever done this kind of thing before! I’m not a-” He held his tongue just in time.   
“Not a what? Hmm?”   
“Nothing. I… What do you want me to do?”  
“That’s more like it.” The King stinger slipped under the boy’s ass, it’s point prodding at his hole, “Ride it. I want it inside you. Now.”   
His voice, whether it was cruelly laughing, cursing, or issuing commands, always carried the same message: Obey or suffer. It was a message that thief boy was keenly aware of, but this request was too far.   
“I… I can’t! It’s too sharp!   
“Be careful then.”   
”Be careful?!”  
The King lifted his head. There was a loud click from his claws snapping into position, “Are you defying me?”  
“No! Just… please, anything else….”   
“This thing is going into you one way or another,” he said, rubbing the edge of the stinger against the boy’s lower back, “It can be up your ass… or maybe I’ll find somewhere else? Through your heart? Throat? Eye?”   
“Okay, f-fine! I’ll do it, you bastard!” The boy said through tears.   
“Hurry up then. I’m growing impatient.”   
His tears dripped from his chin he raised his ass up, trying to position the tip and his hole. It was humiliating, it was terrifying, and he never would have done it had he not been convinced that the Bandit King’s punishment for disobedience could be much worse. While he tried to find a way to insert the singer without impaling himself, the King lazily laid on his back with his hands behind his head. He issued a single impatient grunt to hurry the boy along. The thief boy made his first attempt, bending his thighs and making contact with the tip of the stinger. He gasped as he felt it prick the tender pink flesh of his anus.   
“I can’t! I can’t do it!” He cried out.  
“Hmmph. Then I’ll put it in myself.”   
“No! No wait, I… I can, just give me another try.”   
Thief boy channelled all his focus on a single goal: pushing through the pain so he could get this over with. He was beaten, yes. He had no more will to resist. But if the bastard thought he would accept this new life he was dead wrong. Even if had to suffer abuse and debasement now, every minute he was out of the King’s sight he would be trying to escape. He would never give up and eventually he would get away. He would run back to Azaroth and find the authorities. He’d heard enough to know the central guard would love to know the whereabouts of this evil monster. It was this fantasy of revenge that allowed him to push through the pain of being penetrated. He could feel all the little scratches as the curved stinger slid up into him. It pushed deeper and deeper and deeper as his intestines protested with pain. Sweat, tears, and blood dripped onto the shiny black carapace below him as he exerted every last ounce of will he had left. Finally he felt his butt touch the bulbous head of the venom gland. He had taken the entire thing. He held himself utterly still, terrified that any sudden movement might tear open his insides. He’d seen swordswallowers perform feats like this in the Azarothian markets, but he’d never imagined he’d be doing the same thing… of a sort. Now that it was in him, he ached for it to be out.  
“H-how… how can this…possibly feel… g-good?” He gasped.  
The Bandit King face made that awful alien expression of sadistic pleasure as he said, “Oh I can’t feel a thing in the stinger. Completely numb. I just like watching you cry, slut.”   
The boy felt crushing defeat and ferocious rage mix into a volatile substance inside him. He wanted to scream and cry. He wanted to be free again. He wanted most of all to hurt this demon. But he couldn’t. He was immobilized by the ten inch spike in his ass and even if he wasn’t he knew he couldn’t so much as bruise the bastard. So did the only thing he could. He cried. He wailed, he sobbed, he made harsh guttural choking sounds as his body shivered with the force of his tears. He was utterly broken.   
The Bandit King had been enjoying the tears, but this was a bit too much and he was beginning to bore. The pleasure of breaking in a new toy was rare and exhilarating but now he wanted the easy comfort of being worshipped by a mindless harem slave. So he moved on to the final act. He flexed his stinger and released his venom.   
In the midst of his sobbing, thief boy felt a sharp stabbing pain deep within himself… followed by a hot stinging sensation that spread from his abdomen outwards.   
“What did you do?!” He screamed.   
“Enjoy the last few moments of your sanity, boy.”   
Those words were the last thing the boy would hear for a while. He felt the stinger slide out of his ass, but he could take no pleasure in its absence. He was too panicked about the slight numbness spreading to the tips of his fingers and toes. He began to feel hot and cold at the same time, and dizzy. He couldn’t think straight. His perception of time was skewing. It had only been a few seconds since the stinger had been removed, but it felt longer. Everything was slowing down. His conscious mind melted into a dizzying swirl of emotion, pain, and instinct. His higher level thinking was drowned out. One second he was straddling the King, now he was kneeling at his feet. He tried to look up at the face of the monster, but it was dim. He could barely see anything. Then it got dimmer. His vision was fading! He was straining to see the face of his captor when everything was swallowed up by black. He was completely blind. Not just that, but he could not hear either. He was blind and deaf, deprived of all sensations besides the feeling golden sand against his legs. In this horrifying state, devoid of light and sound, he fell into unhinged animal panic. He threw his limbs wildly around, seeking anything to grab on too. Something to ground himself. Something to take him away from...wherever he was…   
He could not remember where he was. He tried to access memories but he failed. He could feel his face was wet with tears, he felt pains all over his body, he felt ache in his guts, but he no longer knew where they had come from. The venom flowing through his veins had reduced him to something of an animal. He was a panicked mouse caught in a dark little box. Every moment in that box seemed torturously long. It took what felt like hours just to raise his arm. A full day to stand up. What was merely a few minutes in reality stretched on endlessly in his poisoned mind. The whole time he was screaming and he could not hear himself scream.  
Then in his blind panic, he felt the sudden warm touch of a hand. The skin was rough and hard but the tough was gentle. It held his face, sliding down his jaw to his neck, where it pulled him up to his feet. He felt another hand rub his back. He did not know who was touching him or why, but in the terrified darkness it was welcome. He reacted like a dog being pet. Whoever this was, they were touching him. They kept him grounded. They soothed his terror. He reached out and felt the body of man. From the feel of it, it was large and covered in hardness. He took a few blind steps towards it and felt the hands pull him into and embrace. His body was surrounded by the sensation of someone holding him and it was comforting. He stayed there, letting the hands touch his body, offering up his vulnerability to an unknown being. His only want was that the man would not leave him. He could not bear to be untethered and left adrift in the terrible darkness again. Every stroke of his back or his hair was a gift that he savored. The desire to be close to this man, to give himself up to him, it leeched deep down into the depths of his mind, polluting everything.   
He did not know how much time had passed in the arms of this man. It now felt like days. Days of comfort, days of desperate clinging, days of whispering. The man was whispering to him. He could feel the hot breaths against his ear. Though he had thought he was deaf, if he focused entirely he could hear just the faint vibration of words. Something was being said to him and he wanted to know what it was. It was this state of being pet and focusing all his attention on a voice he could not hear that he stayed until the venom was out of his system. In reality, merely a day had passed. In his mind, it felt like years. Years of clinging to a Master. Years of Master's words slipping into his subconscious. Years to bury everything that had once been deep deep below. Years to form his consciousness up again from scratch. 

When finally the light and sound began to return to him he was of an entirely new mind. He began to think clearly again and his perception of time returned to normal. But his old memories were locked away. Sobriety was once again his but when he tried to think of who he was or what he should do, it was like there was a wall in his mind keeping him from the answers. The only thing he really knew, the only real memories he had, were those of his Master holding him in the darkness.   
He found himself dressed in ruby red silks that left much of his skin exposed. He had an iron collar around his neck. Someone was touching him, but not Master. It was someone much smaller, someone like him. Someone who was dressed up in white silks and pretty jewelry. The boy in white silk smiled at him. His face was familiar somehow. Friendly.   
The white silk boy pressed his fingers against the red silk boy’s lips, “Can I see it?” He said.   
The red silk boy opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, with the gold ruby piercing in it. The hole was still bleeding a bit.   
White silk boy looked delighted to see it and stuck his own tongue out to show off his own pearl piercing.   
Red silk boy was sure that whomever this was, they were a friend. But he could not help but be distracted from him by the burning question he had on his mind. His first words after his long night were as follows:  
“Where is Master?”


End file.
